


Tale of the Champion: A Dragon Age II story

by dragonagefanatic



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonagefanatic/pseuds/dragonagefanatic
Summary: Juliette Hawke always kept herself out of trouble.No, wait, scratch that, no one would believe it.Juliette Hawke was trouble, she didn't even need it. Caught between a city so full of shit it was surprising it didn't spill and a former slave still tied to his chains, she had to juggle with whatever life threw at her. A red lyrium idol. A horde of rampaging qunari and their Arishok. A chantry blown up by one of her closest friends - wait hold on, a chantry?Maker's breath, that will need some explaining.
Relationships: Carver Hawke/Merrill, Donnic Hendyr/Aveline Vallen, Fenris/Female Hawke, Zevran Arainai/Female Mahariel
Comments: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter one - The Grey Warden

There was so much blood, running down in rivers, staining the soles of Hawke’s shoes.  
Bethany’s body laid there, mangled and torn apart, face so bloodied one could not see her features. Leandra stood over her, tears brimming in her eyes, as she held her dead daughter.  
A darkspawn launched at them and in the last moment Hawke managed to mind blast it out of the way, drawing power from the Veil, throwing a fireball in their direction.  
“We’re going to die,” Carver said, over the wailing cries of Leandra and the roars of the darkspawn.  
The ogre advanced and Hawke feared that her brother might be right. As she tried to scramble out of the ogre’s way, Hawke fell on her back in the dirt. She gasped, pain throbbing in her right foot.  
“No!” she managed to breathe out as the ogre crushed Carver between his hands, ditching him next to Bethany’s bloodied corpse. Her head swam, her ears rang and all that she could hear were her mothers cries. Your fault, your fault, she chanted over and over again, until the dragon that came to their rescue burnt them to a crisp instead.  
Hawke cried out, cursing the Maker, cursing the darkspawn. Her body was shaking, feverish, shaking against the ground as she was the last one left, surrounded by the corpses of her loved ones, surrounded by the corpses of darkspawn. Flemeth stood in front of her and laughed.  
“Hawke!” Carver shouted again, shaking her once more. When she opened her eyes, she gasped, seeing her brother with the same annoyed look on his face, standing over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but it felt dry.  
“Are you alright?” he asked.  
Juliette managed to shake off the feeling of dread left by the nightmare and offered her brother a lopsided smile. “Nothing short of darkspawn following me to bed.”  
Her brother snorted. “I have the feeling darkspawn are not good lovemakers.”  
She smiled. “They’re terrific.” Rubbing the back of her neck, Hawke rose from under the thin covers and went behind the divider, changing into the robes that she bought after being in Athenril’s service. They had to meet with Varric later that day, as he had a lead that would help them in the expedition. The dwarf did not say what it was, his exact words being Let’s get shitfaced at the Hanged Man and I’ll tell you, Giggles.  
Hawke somehow managed to tame her curls into a low ponytail, attached her sword-staff to her backpack and left Gamlen’s house with Carver following her steps. She walked around Lowtown, with a certain bounce in her steps, Carver noted. Everywhere she went there was always a smile plastered on her face, a sarcastic retort on her lips and a way to make everyone trust her. Her brother scoffed as he struggled to keep up with Juliette.  
When they arrived at the Hanged Man, Isabela raised a jug in Hawke’s direction, making the mage smile and shake her head. Isabela pouted, but she returned to her drink, polishing a dagger while flirting with an Antivan merchant.  
Hawke busted in Varric’s room, the dwarf greeting her with a grin. She sat at the table, raising her feet on it and leaning back in her chair.  
“An ale for Hawke,” Varric called out and then noticed Carver behind them. “One for Junior as well.”  
Hawk smirked. “So, Varric, will you tell me why you called for me, or was it just an excuse to get in my pants.”  
The dwarf laughed, drinking from the jug. “You got me, Giggles. Pants down, Hawke. Junior, you might want to go.” Hawke laughed along with him while Carver scrunched up his nose and dove straight into the ale that was brought to them.  
After the fit of laughter died down, Varric began to explain how they needed maps to the deep roads, and about a Grey Warden hiding in Kirkwall.  
Hawke chuckled. “Sounds like you have it all planned out, Varric.”  
Varric bowed and drank from his ale. “A Lowtown woman named Lirene has been helping the refugees. We talk to her, maybe we find out where this Grey Warden is.”  
Hawke downed her ale, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pushed herself in the armrests, getting back on her feet. “Let’s take Isabela and go.”  
She snorted and rolled her eyes when they noticed Isabela taking the Antivan merchant back to her room, so Hawke decided to leave them alone. After all, how much trouble could a Grey Warden be?  
As they walked through Lowtown, Hawke didn’t even notice how used she got to the hustle and bustle, to the strange smells that invaded her nostrils and to the beggars and charlatans that ganged up on anyone who seemed to be worth a sovereign. No one dared to approach her, especially after she made a name for herself during her time with Athenril - Lowtown at night was another story, but she was grateful that no one was trying to steal her purse in the middle of the day.  
After talking to Lirene and finding out that the Grey Warden was a mage residing in Darktown, they left in surprise.  
“A mage?” Hawke muttered. “The templars will notice him if he keeps his clinic up and going. We should go there as soon as possible.”  
“I’m free now, Giggles,” Varric said.  
“Hey!” someone shouted, garnering their attention. Hawke moved in a defensive stance when she noticed the gang that had approached them. Her hand moved to her staff, the other one placed in front of Carver. Her brother scoffed at the attempt to protect him, but for Hawke it came naturally, without even thinking about it. “We heard you in there, asking about the healer.” Varric drew his crossbow. “We know what happens to mages in this town.”  
Hawke was ready to tell them that she herself was a mage, but Carver moved her hand and stepped in front of them.  
“You want to keep him safe? Don’t pick fights with other Fereldans while the templars are after us all.”  
The man’s eyes widened. “Fereldan? Your clothes, I figured you for a Kirkwaller. Maker bless the rule of our King Alistair and Queen Anora.”  
Hawke smiled at Carver and gently pushed him with her hip. “Nice going there, brother.” He made a sound that resembled a grateful scoff. Even though he would never admit it, Juliette knew that Carver appreciated her compliments. She walked joyfully through Lowtown, though her mood soured the moment they stepped in the contraption that would lead them down into Darktown.  
A frown settled between her brows, but her smirk never left her face. It smelled even worse down there, as rats played at their feet. She was reminded of her dreams, where instead of rats it was blood, Bethany’s blood. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, of the nightmares that still plagued her. Hawke managed to suppress a gag as the smell of urine and feces hit her when the contraption stopped in the middle of Darktown.  
Varric didn’t stop his reaction, which was a shudder and a gag that threatened to evolve into more. Hawke shot him a glance. “If you puke, please don’t do it on my shoes. Otherwise I’ll have to walk barefoot around here and I will catch something and die.”  
“So my puke’ll kill you?” Varric laughed.  
“Exactly,” Hawke said with a smile playing at her lips. Carver snickered as they headed towards the only clinic in Darktown. Hawke pushed the door open in time to see a blond man radiating blue energy - healing a woman. When the spell was done, the Grey Warden shook on his feet and placed a hand on the wall behind him, trying to balance himself.  
Looking up at them, the man’s eyes widened, he pulled out his staff and raised his left hand with a warning look in his eyes.  
Hawke raised her hands. “Woah there,” she joked around.  
“I have made this place a sanctuary for people. Why do you threaten it?”  
Hawke chuckled, making the man frown. “Strange occupation for a warden. Aren’t you more about death and taint rather than healing and salvation?”  
“I’m not going back to the Wardens,” he said. “They made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot.”  
“You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot?”  
Varric rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This day keeps getting weirder and weirder.”  
The Grey Warden shrugged. “The Warden Commander gifted him to me. After she left the others said he made me soft. Gave it to a friend in Amaranthine.”  
“The Hero of Ferelden?” Hawke asked, her eyebrows up in surprise.  
“She hated being called that… but I assume you are not here to talk about her,” he said, his hard eyes softening when he spoke of the Hero.  
Hawke laughed. “I would love to talk about her from someone who experienced her work first hand, but no. I am part of a deep roads expedition and a little birdie with chest hair told me you have some kind of maps.”  
“Real smooth, Giggles,” Varric muttered, making Hawke playfully shush him.  
“What can I say? I am a woman of many words.”  
The blond man scoffed, interrupting their little squabble. “I would die a happy man before thinking about the Deep Roads again. I’m not interested,” he said, turning his back on Hawke. She looked back at Varric, who only shrugged, and then at Carver. His face was in a frown, but he did not speak.  
“We could come up with some kind of agreement,” Hawke propositioned. The man stopped in his tracks and froze. Hawke did not dare open her mouth again until he turned around, with his eyes glistening in the lamp light - was he crying?  
“A favor for a favor,” the Warden said and when Hawke nodded he began to explain his plan. “I came here to free a friend from the Circle. The templars found out about my plans. You help me free him, you get the maps.”  
Hawke snorted while Carver threw her a glance that screamed don’t-you-dare-accept-that-Hawke. Juliette sighed, leaned against a lamp post and ruffled some of her curls.  
“Oh, that’s all?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. The man’s eyes narrowed, he crossed his arms and challenged her gaze. “I might as well just waltz into the deep roads, food for darkspawn.” Varric laughed behind her, but the laugh soon turned into a sigh - he knew Hawke would dare to do that.  
“If we fight the templars it is because they believe that anyone who befriends a mage deserves to die.”  
Carver scoffed. “Doesn’t fighting them prove their point?”  
The Grey Warden ignored whatever her little brother had been saying. “If you want the maps, these are my terms. Meet me tonight, near the Chantry. Karl should be there.”  
Hawke sighed, but still smirked at the man. “Very well. If I am taken in by the Circle, I will turn into an abomination and haunt you.”  
“You’re a mage?” the Grey Warden asked, surprise in his voice. “I had no idea.”  
Juliette raised her shoulders. “If I were shouting that at the top of my lungs, you would have no one to help you. Name’s Juliette, but people usually call me Hawke.”  
“Or Giggles.”  
“You’re the only one that calls me Giggles, Varric.”  
“It’s because you giggle!”  
Hawke snickered. “I never would have thought about that if you didn’t tell me.”  
The Grey Warden almost smiled - Lirene was right, he had the killer eyes, but the smile was missing.  
“Call me Anders.”


	2. Karl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and her crew help Anders with is mission. Afterwards, Hawke has a talk with him about Justice and the Hero of Ferelden.

Chapter two

Anders was already at the Chantry when they had arrived, fidgeting with his robes.  
The air felt warm on her skin, but something was off. The usual sounds of Hightown were dimmed down, when even in the dead of the night someone could be heard roaming around the streets. Hawke had decided to let Aveline sit this one out, sure that the Captain of the Guard would have some not so nice words to shout at her. She was sure that her friend would soon find out about her shenanigans, but that didn’t mean she had to be present to see the shit Hawke was burying herself into.  
So she had decided to take Varric, Isabela and Carver with her, even though the latter complained the whole way to Hightown while Isabela sang a tavern song.  
Anders’ eyes lit up when he saw Hawke.  
“Are you ready?” he asked and when she nodded they sneaked into the Chantry.  
It was grand, but like every other building in Kirkwall it was intimidating - the architecture and statues from when Kirkwall was a city of slavers still lived on, a terrifying statue of Andraste looming over them, with burning candles at her feet. It was a wonder the whole Chantry hadn’t burned down. It smelled of oils and molten wax.  
Anders led them up the stairs and through a pair of doors, in a dimly lit and cramped room where a man in mage robes stood with his back at them.  
“Karl?” Anders asked, his voice shaking.  
“Anders,” Karl said, his voice falling flat. Hawke drew a sharp breath in and took a step back, a hand involuntarily flying to her mouth. “I was a rebel, Anders, and so the templars made an example out of me,” he continued and when he turned around their worst fear had been confirmed.  
On his forehead rested the Mark of the Tranquil.  
“No!” Anders wailed, his cries echoing in the empty Chantry. Even Hawke found her eyes watering at the sight, while Carver muttered a Maker’s breath.  
“You’ll understand, as soon as the templars teach you how to,” Karl said, making Hawke turn around. Her hand headed straight for her staff, drawing it out and holding it like a sword, ready to fight the templars that had encircled them. She glanced at Carver, a look that told him to escape if something were to happen to her. He nodded at the unspoken words and drew out his greatsword.  
“NO!” Anders shouted once more, his skin breaking into a blue glow, his eyes completely embodying the color. Hawke balled her eyes at him, her mouth hung open - What in the Void have I gotten myself into?  
“You will never take another mage as you took him!” he shouted, but it wasn’t his voice coming out. It was deep, echoey, almost like a thousand voices spoke over each other - it sounded like a demon.  
Hawke turned back around as Carver struck down a templar - it was beyond trying to keep her abilities hidden. She took a few steps back, giving up on her warrior stance, and drew power from the fade, throwing a fireball at the nearest group of templars. Their skirts caught on fire as they began to burn. Fire had always felt natural to her, but it was also the most exhausting - it always took a small part of her with each fireball she threw around.  
Twirling her staff in a hand, she slashed one templar across the face and planted a walking bomb inside of him - when an arrow from Varric’s crossbow landed in his face, the man exploded, blood and gore plastering everywhere around them. The wine like liquid rolled in rivers and Hawke had to fight her thoughts to suppress a flashback of Bethany.  
“Sister!” Carver yelled out.  
She turned around and gasped when the hilt of a sword hit her in the nose. Hawke stumbled back, holding a hand over her bloodied face as the templar advanced. Anders - or whatever he was - didn’t let him get too far. Hawke was surprised to see such a powerful spell come out of Anders, as she thought he was a healer, when he froze the templar in his steps.  
Hawke didn’t think too much about it - she spun around, hit the templar with the blade from her staff and broke the templar into a million pieces.  
All of them were dead and there was gore galore. Hawke pitied whoever had to clean the mess they had left behind - she hoped they would not investigate it too much.  
“I will kill every last templar!” the thing that was Anders yelled out.  
“Anders? What did you do?” Karl asked, his voice filled with emotion. “It’s like you brought a piece of the fade with you.”  
Anders snapped back to reality, the blue glow fading away bit by bit until his eyes were back to their golden color. Hawke took a few steps back and placed her hand in front of Carver, trying to keep him out of harm's way.  
“What did you do? The angry glowing bit.”  
“It glows like a beacon,” Karl said, his hands shaking. Anders tried to take a step forward, arms spread in an embrace, but the other mage flinched and took a step back. The pain on Anders’ face was as clear as day.  
“Please,” the mage pleaded. “Kill me before I forget again! It’s fading,” he broke out into sobs, tears on his cheeks.  
Hawke stepped forward, looked at Anders, more to figure out if he was still a threat, but also to try and bring him some comfort. She was all giggles and sunshine, but she knew what it meant to lose someone you care about.  
“I would rather die than become Tranquil,” she muttered.  
Anders cried as he did it and Hawke could do nothing about it but watch. Karl slumped down on the floor, blood coming out of the side of his throat, where his artery was. Before the mage died Anders was already out the Chantry doors, leaving four stunned companions behind.  
“Well, that was kinda hot,” Isabela was the first to speak. “In a morbid kind of way.”  
“Rivaini,” Varric sighed. “If I knew what a nutcase he is, I wouldn’t even have told you to find him.”  
Hawke calmed her shaky breaths, composed herself, and turned around with a bright smile plastered on her face. “What?” she asked, widening her eyes. “The normal ones are boring. Get me someone traumatised with a dark past and I am all in. My own personal angst-mage.”  
Varric rolled his eyes playfully as they made their way out of the Chantry. “Serves you right, Giggles.”  
“You go on ahead, Carver. I’ll pay a visit to our lovely abomination.”  
Her brother frowned so deep Hawke could’ve sworn his brows would remain stuck like that. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with him. Especially you going alone into Darktown.”  
“Fine, I’ll come home and bring Barkspawn with me.”  
“That’s not what I--”  
“Barkspawn,” she said, leaving no room for argument. She wanted to talk with Anders alone, without the judgmental stare of his brother behind her back. Carver rolled his eyes, huffed and puffed, but he didn’t protest anymore.  
As they made their way into Lowtown, Isabela blew Carver a kiss, making him blush and Varric waved goodbye without looking back, stumbling on his feet, too tired to bother walking straight. The two siblings did not speak as they headed towards Gamlen’s house, or when Carver let Barkspawn out of the house.  
The mabari barked and wagged his short tail at Juliette. She bent down, clasped her hands around his muzzle, squeezing.  
“Who’s a good boy? You are,” she babied him, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Let’s go eat an abomination, good boy.” Barkspawn barked and ran in front of her. Carver did not bother to say goodbye, he just closed the door behind Hawke and left her in the dark of Lowtown.  
When she arrived in front of the contraption that led to Darktown, she could make out a shadow following her in the corner of her eye. The mabari barked continuously until she shushed him, turned around and took out her staff, blade up.  
“I know you’re out there, so you better come out unless you want to be mabari food.”  
“Forgive me, serah,” a boyish voice was heard. “I’ll come out now.” From the shadows came forward a boy, no older than twelve, with his bare feet caked up in dirt. He held a letter in his hands.  
Hawke crossed her arms and smirked. “Is that for me? It better be a letter from a secret admirer, or I won’t have it.” Panic could be read on the boy’s face, until Hawke laughed and opened her palm. “Give it up, boy.”  
He placed it in her hand, fumbling around with his tunic. “Ah, payment! Of course,” Hawke muttered and took out three sovereigns. “Run along now.”  
The boy looked once more at Barkspawn and when the dog growled, he broke out in a sprint. Hawke giggled and placed a hand on her mabari’s head, petting him while reading the letter.  
Hawke,  
You might be interested in something that’s come up. A contact of mine, a fellow by the name of Anso, is asking for someone competent regarding a job, and I suggested you. He’s always paid well, so if I were you, I’d check into it before someone else snaps it up. He says he’ll be in Lowtown Bazaar at night.  
Athenril  
“Well I’ll be a nug’s uncle,” she muttered under her breath. “Athenril being charitable. But first, Anders,” Hawke said and headed for Darktown. The contraption shook, groaned loudly and creaked as it made its way down and down into the depths of Darktown.  
When she opened the door to Anders’ clinic, she was surprised to find it mostly empty. He was sitting on a chair, with a book in his lap, but his eyes passed through it. He was biting his lower lip, almost drawing blood.  
“I would gladly do that for you, you know,” Hawke said with a wink.  
Anders flinched and raised his eyes. “What?” Hawke pointed at his lip and only then he noticed what he was doing, blushing. “Oh,” he said with a sad chuckle.  
“May I?” she asked, pointing at a chair.  
“By all means.”  
She leaned into it, crossing her legs. “So… is this the part where you tell me you’re an abomination?” Hawke jested around, praying to whoever heard her that he would tell her the opposite. Barkspawn barked and sat at her feet.  
“You’re wrong,” he said and her heart settled. “But not entirely.” Well, shit. “When I was in Amaranthine I met a spirit of Justice, trapped outside of the Fade.”  
“What does this have to do with your glow?”  
Anders gulped, closed the book and pulled out a flask. He took a big swig and offered it to Hawke. “Why the hell not?” she joked, taking a big drink out of it.  
“To live outside of the Fade, he needed a host.” Shit, Hawke didn’t like where this was headed. “So, I offered myself, to bring justice to every Circle Mage… but I guess I had too much anger in me. It turned into Vengeance.”  
Hawke giggled to hide her anxiousness. “So that explains your whole sexy tortured look.”  
His eyes widened at the shameless flirting, but he managed to ease some of the tension. “Perhaps I’ll have to check the looking glass more often. Look, here are the maps,” Anders said and offered her the papers hidden between stacks of old books. “If you have need of me, I’ll be here.”  
Hawke did not leave. His eyes were red, bloodshot and puffy, with dark circles around them - he had been crying for a while. Instead of getting up, she made herself more comfortable.  
“Do you want to talk about Karl or about the Hero?” It did not pass her eyes the way Anders flinched when she had mentioned the mage’s name. “The Hero it is then,” she said. “So, come on, tell me her deepest darkest secrets.”  
Anders managed to spill a small chuckle and Hawke considered it a victory. He got up from the chair, which squeaked in protest, managed to find a clean mug and placed some of the liquid from the flask in it, offering it to Hawke.  
She took it as he sat back on the chair. “She is gorgeous,” he said. “One of the most beautiful elves I have ever seen.”  
Hawke’s eyebrows shot up. “Someone has the hots for the Hero.”  
“I did, maybe, but it didn’t matter. She only had eyes for that Antivan Crow.”  
“Antivan Crow?”  
Anders nodded and drank some more. “He never left her side. Zervan is his name. I believe they are still together and in love. Strange relationship they had: both of them shamelessly flirted with me without jealousy, but when I offered myself to her, she refused. It is either both of us or neither, were her exact words.”  
Hawke giggled. “Reminds me of Isabela.”  
“Hmph, I never thought to make that comparison. Yes, in a way she was like Isabela. Even though there was a burden on her shoulders she was always carefree, but she rarely joked. Especially after losing her friend.”  
“What friend?” Hawke asked and drank more from the mug.  
“King Alistair,” he said, making her choke. “They were good friends before she decided to spare Loghain and make him a Warden. I met him once, actually. Grim fellow, that one.”  
“Grimmer than you?”  
“Hey!” Anders said, deeply offended. “I wasn’t always like this. Justice… changed me. But yes, grimmer than me, I guess.”  
“So why did the Hero lose Alistair?”  
Anders shrugged. “I guess he could not accept the fact that she spared his mentor’s killer. It doesn’t matter now. Daealla said that she regretted the consequence, but not the action. She said that she would do it again.”  
“Where is she now?”  
Anders shrugged again. “I do not know. After the fight at Amaranthine, she left with Zevran without telling us why. I left shortly after.”  
Hawke gulped down her drink and rose from the chair, Barkspawn moving in tandem with her. Anders got up as well, leading her to the exit, a smile tugging at his lips. He placed a hand at the small of her back, making her give him a lopsided grin.  
“We’ll talk about Karl next time you come by.”  
“Next time?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Anders laughed. His first real laugh - it was music to Hawke’s ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we shall meet the broody elf that everyone loves ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse me if I accidentally called Anders by his name before Hawke knew it. I caught a few slips, but if I did, please do tell me so I can correct it.


End file.
